


His Faithful Wife

by espers770



Category: SPY x FAMILY (Manga), The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cause Odysseus sucks, F/M, Family, Family Reunions, Loid is Odysseus but also like not Odysseus...., NO ANGST WOOOHOOO, Nobility, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Reunions, Royalty, The Odyssey References, Yor is a queen both literally and figuratively
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 16:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espers770/pseuds/espers770
Summary: Loid, the clever hero of legend, has been missing for twenty years following his participation in the grueling Trojan war. His faithful wife Yor has waited for him every single second. Her waiting comes to its culmination as a mysterious duo overtakes Ithaca and slaughters her suitors. All she can do is hope they are on her side, dare she ask for more by wishing one to be her husband.
Relationships: Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	His Faithful Wife

**Author's Note:**

> Character Key:
> 
> Loid - Odysseus  
> Yor - Penelope  
> Anya - Telemachus  
> Daybreak (Ximeromos) - Suitor  
> Camilla - Helen  
> Handler/Sylvia - Eurycleia 
> 
> I decided to write this after reading both of Madeline Miller’s books (The Song of Achilles and Circe) both of which Odysseus is involved in. I’m now deep in a renewed love for mythology and especially the relationship between Odysseus and his wife Penelope. Penelope happens to be my favorite character in the Odyssey, she’s clever and upstanding and most definitely above the station of Odysseus. I’m not gonna get into his obsessive masculinity, infidelity and violent tendencies but let’s just say me and him have a love hate relationship. I love to pretend their romance is all sunshine and daisies but sometimes I do have to admit Odysseus is a dickwad and will never be the same as he was before the war. 
> 
> BTW I HATE THE ENDING, it’s just so uncreative...be warned. Plus it just doesn’t have the same tone as the rest of the fic...but I am too tired to think of anything else.

Her lady in waiting had done nothing to shield her from the violence ensuing outdoors before she had fallen into an impossible sleep. There was hardly a moment for Yor to confirm she was indeed breathing. Curtains remained open, allowing both sunshine and the shrill last words of dying men to permeate her chamber. The lyre laid companionless by the fire, its sweet music absent from the air. The soothing sound of its strings would be nothing compared to the guttural cries and pleas for mercy. Usually an attempt would be made to distract, but her highness had no opportunity to request one.

The fair Yor, aged not a day older since the disappearance of her husband, was a picture of beauty. Second to none other than her fabled cousin Camilla. Camilla caused wars over her allure, Yor only the journeys of hundreds of suitors, seeking to replace her missing husband. 

Nearing forty years of age she appeared only twenty and dressed herself accordingly. It was an impossible gift, for which only the gods could be blamed. Those bastards of suitors only lusted at her feet with increasing desperation as she layered finer silks over her body each day. Like a wily debutante she wore the most luxurious jewelry that draped over her wrists and collarbones. No man since her husband had embraced her as closely following his untimely disappearance. Many had tried. 

Such a dainty woman would never expose herself to malice and bloodshed. This standard did not account for the clever wife worthy of a man like Loid. She was not a dainty woman beneath her youthful complexion. 

Yor did not flinch when shadows of men fighting till their bitter end cast on her face, and the stone walls of her marriage bedroom. She was unbothered by the squelching noise of hard iron meeting despairing flesh. Never in her life had she been faced with this savagery, though her expression gave the opposite impression. 

Much like her husband she relished in the death of the wrong at the hands of the just.

  
Those men claimed her husband had died long ago, they claimed to wish for her comfort and happiness, though their motives were much more impure. All one hundred wanted to bed the tragically elegant widow of the hero Loid. They feasted on his wine and meat, muddied his stables and conspired against his progeny. The maids fed into their greed by teasing in short skirts and coaxing the most lecherous into their chambers. 

Idle talk of pursuing Loid on the off chance of his survival passed around at night. During the day they laughed at fabricated stories of his demise over wine. No such rumor would exist if they were not afraid of him, it brought a smile to her lips. 

Each and every one of them would be dead by the end of the day. Someone, a mortal or god she did not know, was driving weapons, carved from expertly calloused hands, into the hearts of evil as she rested. Above the carnage she could hear the grunts of two men obviously stronger than the rest. One being a man she could only hope was righteous, stringing her husband’s impossible bow with ease and lodging arrow after arrow through their skulls. The other was a much younger, more hesitant voice, they verbally acknowledged the suitors, unlike their companion who treated them like game to be hunted. Those they murdered were called out by name before meeting their doom. 

The vigor and blood lust created vibrations in the heavy air that froze her in place. Yor did not cry out or tremble. The men at the center of the chaos outside could very well be plotting to kill her or take her body for their own desires. The fear of such possibilities was outweighed by her satisfaction at the judgement and execution of her selfish admirers. Her face remained calm, but she could not raise her cheek to gaze out on the scene either. If Athena deemed her life a worthy trade for the hundred suitor’s lives she would face the goddess when her time came with grace and humility. When their executioner knocked on her chamber door she would thank them most sincerely. 

Her only regret would be the absence of her husband in her final moments. They envisioned a long life together, one where he could lay by her side clutching her feeble hand, as they both took in their last breaths of life. 

If today were the day she could finally meet him in the underworld it would be a day to celebrate. Loid must be waiting for her, riddled with guilt due to their time spent apart. When she finally reached him she would not forgive him so easily. But an eternity together allowed for as long as she needed. 

Yor sunk to the cold floor of her room, back against the now relatively thin wall separating her from the terror befalling the courtyard. Body after body fell with a dull “ _ thunk _ ” on the stone tile lining the enclosure. The sickly rhythm had long slowed, men now only fell after lengthy silences mingled with bold prose. 

“Ximeromos! Have you no shame cowering like a child when faced with the consequences of your corruption?”

All noises of battle settled into the background to give way for this voice. 

“You are an indecent bastard. Rise to your feet!”

Boots scrambled desperately against gravel as Ximeromos heeded the command.

“You misunderstand I-” His voice shook. The man once brazenly declared his superiority over her husband. Yet Loid would have never acted the way he was. The embarrassment of the scene was felt even only through her ears. 

“Scum as emasculate as you should never have been allowed to desire after what is mine.”

Yor dared hope. 

The voice rang almost god like in her ears, and Yor was never one to throw around words without meaning. She felt his intonation in her core.  _ Mine.  _ It made her ache and wish for the owner of a similar voice to return to her. Loid held the same command over a room, even without the use of violence as this aggressor had. 

Her hope drowned out the gurgling noise emitting from the soon to be dead man’s throat. A swift stab to the esophagus was all that was needed to shut his haughty mouth forever. May he never regain his ability to speak even in the afterlife. 

After Ximeromos fell so did the rest. No words were spoken as they died one by one, all of the strangers and most shameless suitors were nothing compared to two men and borrowed weapons. 

The courtyard was at last silent. The air stood still, freezing in her lungs. Yor could not breathe for fear of missing the smallest sound, the slightest movement that would indicate the battle still raged on. But that sound never came. No one grasped for their weapon and charged onward, the victors did not even sigh in relief. It was as if there was no one left on Ithaca at all.

It was horror that kept her eyes glued to the resting body of her nurse Sylvia. Her chest still rose and fell softly, ignorant to the slaughter that had just stained her courtyard forever. Yor too wished she had not been witness to the carnage, even if she had not glanced out of her window once.

There was hardly a moment of peace before daring boot steps resonated through the halls. He was coming. Yor had less than a minute to prepare herself to be stolen from her home, away from what remained of her husband and daughter. Oh her daughter, if Anya did not already flee there was no chance she was alive. The poor girl still had so much to learn, and so much youthful hope for her father’s return.

Yor despaired but not for long. The queen was famous for her patience, for her composure. She would not lose those qualities during the moments that would decide whether she lived or died. Whatever the fates had determined she would not comply without a fight. Her wit had not failed her once and she did not intend for that streak to be broken. 

The steps grew closer, the proximity allowed her to hear another set of boots matching the stride of the dominant pair. 

At least one member of the greatest house in Ithaca would have to survive to tell the tale. If it could not be their virtuous queen Yor it had to be Sylvia. Only the gods knew what fate had befallen the other maids so hopefully the attackers did not pay attention to the number they had murdered. 

The nurse was dead weight in her arms, but she had to hide her. Sylvia had been loyal to Loid since he was a babe, and then her when she married into the family and Anya when she was born. Yor dragged her body behind the chaise Loid had fashioned upon her request when they were newlyweds, how fitting for what may be her last day as queen. 

Syliva’s sleeping face did not change when the footsteps stopped just outside of the door. Yor could not say the same. Fear contorted her features into a twisted mess. She had barely any time to wipe her tearful eyes before the harsh rapping of knuckles on wood urged her back to her position on the bed.

Elegant once more she folded her hands in her lap and cleared her throat. It was easy to boast about keeping a level head when facing impending doom, but actually doing so took every ounce of her energy. 

“If you are here for my life take it, I will not resist you.” 

Her bold words were met with silence, what a waste. But a queen who vaunted cleverness would not be discouraged so easily. If anything she had to buy herself some time to think.

“If you are not, make no mistake, I will not resist such advances either.”

Whoever stood behind the door appeared to find her predicament quite funny. He let out a bellowing laugh, not forced in the slightest. 

“Woman you are as cunning and droll as I left you.”

To set her expectations so high was criminal. Yor had suppressed all of her optimism and girlish wishes for years only for them to come bubbling to the surface. All twenty years of yearning felt so distant now. The man she loved enough to waste half of her life away for was so tangible. She could not shake the ghost of the feeling of his hand on her cheek as he departed for a war that would separate them seemingly indefinitely. 

If he were behind that door she’d-

Yor was given scarcely a second to think before the door was thrust open, slamming against the stone wall that held it. 

In walked her daughter, gleaming from ear to ear. Anya was bloodied, a look unfit for a princess, though she misleadingly showed no sign of being injured herself. Yor’s instinct was to worry but the girl shone brighter than she had ever seen her. The princess’ cream tunic and slacks bloomed with a deep red and Anya’s walk was ever so slightly uneven. Her face was all but one of an injured warrior, she appeared so healthy all her parental fears were calmed. 

Her voice was soaked in every last bit of pride that she had missed for twenty whole years. 

“Mother please see who has returned!”

Her daughter may be radiant, but she was nothing in comparison to him. The very breath was stolen from her lungs once he entered. Gods be damned. His jawline, as sharp as a blade forged by Hephaestus himself, was set in a reassuring smile. From head to toe he glistened with earned confidence. Trained muscles fought against the seams of his tunic. His clothing was more saturated with blood than Anya’s yet not a blond hair was out of place. 

The glamour of their patron goddess Athena kept him young. The man before her was not pushing forty, he was twenty years younger at the least, but somehow he was so...utterly... 

_ “Loid.” _

Yor’s voice was scarcely a whisper. She had tried to say more, to put more enthusiasm behind her exclamation but it was futile. A dry clump filled her throat and took away her ability to form a coherent thought. Her jaw hit the floor, the back of her neck flamed red and her giddiness only amplified. 

Dignity was not forgotten however. No matter how handsome the man before her seemed, how tempting or familiar she could not be so quick to trust. Mortal men had tried and failed to trick her before, and Yor knew deep down the gods would find humor in deceiving an old widow like herself. 

Yor chose to collect herself through sheer will. Twenty years she had waited. Twenty grueling and doubtful years, but if she were to truly be reunited with her love she could wait twenty more. 

“Mother why are you still? This is the moment you have waited for!”

“Anya shush. Daughter you are not a fool, but it seems you cannot help acting as one.” 

The princess stiffened, surprised by her cold response. 

“Have you gone blind in your twenty years of isolation? The mind of this man is most definitely my father’s.”

Anya meant no harm, her daughter’s face shone with genuine confusion. She spoke loudly, but her words would not hold up to her own memory. Yor knew better than anyone Anya had not seen her father’s face at a time she would remember. When he left she was but a babe. It was a miracle she had survived all her years without a father to protect her. 

Loid chuckled, diverting their attention. 

“Settle yourself child for your mother and I have secret signs to recognize each other. I am sure she will test me properly in due time.”

It was hardest to hold back her smile then. For all the years of his absence Yor’s largest craving was for the recognition of her intellect. Men did not prize such opinionated women, but Loid had. She would never find another with a love for mentality like him. 

“We will see.” She hummed, “only gods know the extent of my forgetfulness when it comes to my husband’s teachings.”

“I assure you, no man could teach wit like yours.”

A blush dusted her ears. This man made her feel like a maiden once again. With a phrase he had taken her back to youth flirtations with Loid in the hall of her uncle, avoiding the fuss made by her cousin’s impending marriage. Yor could not wait any longer, impatience was filling in her and dangerously close to bursting. 

“It is far too late for mind games, and a day's worth of fighting must have exhausted you both. Allow me to find Sylvia to prepare your rooms and bring you a hearty meal.”

“Ah yes, I miss that old broad dearly.” 

If Loid heard the nerves in her voice he did not show it in the slightest. How would she find Sylvia when the maid was in fact sleeping, concealed behind the chair she had placed in the panic before his entrance? An intruder might kill her still.

Yor took a tentative step forward, facing over Loid’s shoulder as to not offer the false notion that she was moving toward him. 

“Sylvia!” Her voice was grossly hoarse. She shouted loud enough to resonate through the stone halls. “Prepare my bed! We have guests!”

Yor prayed to the gods Sylvia would not wake from her divine slumber so conveniently. The woman was faithful yet, but slow to subtle tricks. 

With a smile she turned to Loid, ignoring her daughter at his side and forcing her hands still. Her efforts were fruitless but she hid them naturally behind her back. 

The second time she yelled her voice did not waver. 

“Bring my bed into the hall, the one residing in the master suite!” Lowering her voice she faced Loid once more. “I am sorry we cannot offer you a room, but I hope the finest bed will-”

The seething anger she saw in his face brought a smile to her lips. 

His temples seized, shifting each time he ground his teeth furiously against one another. Wrinkles marred his fair skin, his eyebrows pointed sharply into his lids. Blue eyes darkened, sending shivers down her spine. His mouth both frowned at the corners and stretched into a thin line, his jawline violently clenched. 

Loid was not a man who wore his emotions on his face. He was perpetually calm, with a hint of condescension when he deemed it necessary. In her eyes it was always justified, her husband was the most intelligent man on earth. Yor would not anger their goddess by claiming him superior, but there was a clear reason why she was her favorite. The only mortal she doted on like a spoiled son. He was well known for his stone manner, Yor felt special seeing sides of him no one else ever had. His vulnerability, his happiness and especially his rage. Rage toward others he vented in private she was familiar with, rage directed at her however was completely new. 

“I will not openly insult your honor woman, in front of our kin nonetheless, but I may imply it so. You know much better than anyone else that I poured my heart and all of its damned love for you into crafting that bed. I carved one of its posts from the tree that supports our home, I spent equal time and effort on every stroke of my knife, and you know I am not a patient man. There should be no option for that bed to be moved. Unless you wanted to forget me so? Have you no respect for your husband?”

Each and every word was emphasized with malice, from feet away she could feel the impassioned spit cutting off each sentence. Yor basked in the authenticity. Oh to be able to dive into his mind to hear exactly what he thought of her now. Did he believe her to be loose and wanton, leading the suitors on during the day and bedding them at night for years? Or for her to have fallen into despair and given up on him entirely, acting as a pitiful woman and ridding their home of every memory of him? 

It did not matter anymore.

Perhaps she did deserve to be thought of as wanton, she could not control herself any more. It was him. Him, him, him. HIM. Her husband, her lover, her everything. Yor felt an urge to take him all, embrace him until there was scarcely a breath left in his lungs. Her body called for him, ached for his touch. Nothing would be enough to satisfy the hunger of an abandoned wife. Loid was so real, so tangible, how could she be apart from him a second longer. Each moment she waited to act was a moment he could be stolen from her grasp during once again. 

His face when she burst into tears was one of a kind. 

“Oh Loid, never say it is not true. It is you, please let it be so!”

Yor leapt from her idle position, almost tripping on the few tiles separating their bodies. Had the distance been this easy to overcome all of those years maybe they could’ve been much happier. Though the past will always remain the past. Bare feet did not feel the sting of cold stone, nor did her joints groan under the abrupt pressure. Yor’s single mindedness could not be halted. Her long empty arms flung around his sturdy neck. Even without warning his arm reacted to catch her, reliably pulling her flush against her torso and amplifying her already impossible giddiness. 

The tears would not stop their descent from her eyes, they clung to the apples of her cheeks before melting into Loid’s tunic. It was embarrassing, all of her dignity she put so much effort into maintaining gone in the span of a second. She buried her head deep into his shoulder, inhaling his musk. If she acted like a teenage girl instead of a queen once she might as well continue to do so. 

Yor snaked her arms around his neck, pulling herself into him closer, though it would never be close enough. She could feel his heartbeat against her own, but she desired to be within, nestled inside his heart, carried with him everywhere for all of eternity. 

He must know he had consumed her and left nothing to remember her original self by. 

“Yor…”

His hand found the back of her neck, tracing circles onto her nape. His grip on her did not last for long. Loid moved to grasp her chin, tilting her head away from his shoulder, and upwards to look into his eyes. 

Meeting those clear blue eyes meant more to her than anything in the world. Guilt ate away at her even though she had done nothing wrong. Loid had seen and taken part in some undoubtedly horrible atrocities, yet his soul was so clear, pure like his eyes. Yor’s cheeks and ears flamed from just one glance. More tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to burst at any moment, or after his next attempt at eye contact. 

“Loid I am so sorry,” Yor managed to blubber out despite her runny nose and swollen eyes. “I doubted you and I was a fool. Not another man like you will ever exist.” 

He looked to her and softened, all remaining shards of anger melting away at his wife’s display. 

“Do not apologize, in fact I should thank you. I missed stimulating conversation so ardently. Maybe I should be sorry for not catching on soon and becoming enraged at my pure intentioned wife.” His laugh was gentle, hardly a scoff as he leaned down beside her ear. 

Loid’s gravely voice had grown rougher over time, but affected her in the very same way. “I have all twenty years away from your side to apologize for.” 

  
The sorrow was obvious no matter how striking the smile he hid it behind seemed. He had missed her, with all the sincerity he could imagine, Yor knew that much even if he had not admitted it out loud. 

“Oh husband worry not, I know it was never your intention to stay away for so long.” Yor was speaking in a way she had not for years. She was but a blushing maiden who had scarcely seen a boy before, in front of her husband. 

Perceptive as ever, Loid was quick to catch on to her embarrassment. It was silent for a spell. Yor shifted from foot to foot, she never anticipated what exactly she would do following his reappearance. Even just months of distance made for stiff conversation, nevermind twenty years. 

“Forgetting all of my regrets is not simple, but I am sure we will have more than twenty years time together to make up for time lost. Or if you are willing I could make it up to you in our very much so intact bed tonight.”

Yor was stunned, the quip came out of nowhere. He was clearly bemused at the tomato red shade she had taken on, even more vibrant than the flush she gained following a glass of wine. 

But what was the harm in flirtation?   
  


“You’re more than welcome to, one could say I have had to keep myself company at night in your absence.”

She must have looked ridiculous, shuffling her feet and awkwardly fidgeting her hands, nevermind the trail of fiery blush encasing her ears and cheeks. Loid did not seem to mind in the slightest. In fact he smiled, smirked even, eager to continue this conversation elsewhere no doubt. 

“Father,” 

Yor could feel Loid perk up beside her at the mere mention of the endearment. The reunion was all so real, for his daughter to finally recognize his rightful position as her father out loud carried much more emotional weight than she had imagined. Though Anya had referred to him in that way for years in his absence, not that she had an obligation to tell him. 

“Yes?” Loid may have once been a master manipulator, but he could no longer keep his traitorous smile off of his face.    
  
“It is truly wonderful that you two, who I have longed to see together, are reunited, but I just,” Anya paused and cringed backwards, “would appreciate if you let me take my leave before-”

“ANYA!”

“-you kiss.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I chose to change some details of the Odyssey canon. First of all and most glaringly, Yor (Penelope) is awake for the entire battle between Loid (Odysseus), their daughter Anya (Telemachus) and the suitors, though she doesn’t have an intensely active role. In the original story I feel like the concept of divine sleep was just too convenient and having her deal with the uncertainty of just exactly who is fighting and whether or not they are on her side is much more interesting. Also Anya doesn’t have to murder the “traitorous” servant girls because I interpret that as an act of madness and cruelty (on Odysseus’ part not Telemachus), and Loid doesn’t go off the deep end with paranoia and anger as Odysseus does. Besides that I did various plot-speeding-up cuts and things to fit this in a oneshot, but I’m too lazy to explain them all.


End file.
